And then......you turned 10

Dear G,

Tomorrow marks ten years of you doing things on your own terms, in your own unique way, regardless of what anyone else thinks or says.

You have been that way since before birth....you moved around so much in utero that at 18-weeks gestation, I would get motion sick from all your fluttering.

You completely upended my plan for natural childbirth by not only being breech but refusing to turn during an external version, resulting in a c-section. You came out ass-first, which should really be a t-shirt motto that you wear proudly.

You refused to open your eyes for the hospital photographer for your newborn photos (even though your more adaptable siblings did).

In ten years, little has changed.

You are growing your hair out with the goal of looking like Finn.

Finn and his sidekick:

You and your sidekick:

Am I wrong?

And your grand plan is this:

As much as I'd sometimes like to hold you down with a pair of shears, I know that this is "you doing you." My goal is to guide you to be the best you possible, and if that is a long-haired you (provided you get periodic trims and keep it clean), I guess I am ok with that.

You doing you is pretty brave, and I'm proud of you for having the guts to be who you are, even if your grandpa and your uncle and lots of other people rag you about your hair.

Most of the time you are a balance between total turd and utter sweetness and sensitivity. I think the turd part is just being a 10-year-old boy because I distinctly remember your uncle being the same way when he and I were kids. Eventually, you will outgrow the turd part, but I hope the sweet and sensitive never leaves.

You feel so deeply, and it is as much a gift as it is a tremendous weight for you to shoulder. Although you often don't know what to do with your own pain and uncomfortable feelings, you seem to know how to help others when they are under their own emotional burdens.  You get it, and I'm not sure many 10-year-old boys do.

Being your mom has challenged me in many ways, but it has also helped me become more flexible and more accepting of things I cannot control. Having a son who is so much like me has made me see that being stubborn and persistent and pig-headed is equal parts maddening and awesome.

I love you and hope you have a fantastic birthday!

Love,

Momma

What "taking a knee" represents to me (little ole English teacher)

Nevermind that the president should be governing and not bloviating on Twitter. Let's just put that aside.

I have been thinking about the symbolism of the act of "taking a knee," and it is powerful. So powerful, in fact, that I wish I had an interest in attending a sporting event so that I, too, could take a knee.

When I teach, I introduce students to the words connotation and denotation. 

Denotation is the literal meaning of a word. For example, my wedding ring is a circle of gold, a piece of jewelry.

Connotation is the idea or feeling (or symbolic meaning) that the word evokes in addition to its denotative meaning. My wedding ring is a commitment, a promise, an act of love, infinity.

"Taking a knee" is literally a half-stand. The body is nearly half the size it would be if the person stood on both feet.

But symbolically, taking a knee has many possible connotative meanings.

"Taking a knee" is reverential, although it would be more reverential if both knees were on the ground, as someone might do in a Catholic mass. When I see people lambasting athletes who "take a knee," I think they fail to notice the importance of this reverence.

When we see people knighted, they "take a knee." It is a statement of respect, of dignity in the face of authority. It is a great honor to be knighted. (That link is not high-quality journalism or anything, but the picture serves the purpose for what I'm saying.)

Here is a better one to make my point:

"Taking a knee" is also symbolic of not being on equal footing, and this is why the athletes do it. They are not speaking for themselves but in symbolic deference to others who do not have equal footing.

"Taking a knee" as the athletes do it is symbolic of not being fully degraded. This would be a representation of someone who has given up all dignity at the hands of an oppressor:

Hands and knees on the ground in complete supplication.....that is connotative of complete loss of dignity, power, and self-respect. This body shape can be both negative, as seen above, and positive, as when worshippers do this in prayer, offering up everything to God.

If athletes wanted to give a giant F-U to America, they would stand their full measure and hold up their middle fingers during the anthem. That would be a clear, unequivocal symbol of disrespect.

But "taking a knee" is anything but a giant F-U.

It is peaceful and gentle. When Jesus washed his disciples' feet, he certainly didn't do it at a full stand. He was almost certainly on one or both knees.

And that is another important part of the meaning. "Taking a knee" also symbolizes being ready to offer service to whomever you kneel before. By kneeling during the anthem, athletes may be offering service to the betterment of the country, offering service to those who do not feel they can "take a stand."

I know Twitter is no place for nuance, but it would certainly be nice if it was.

Not a helicopter parent, but an "unable-to-let-go" parent

I try very much not to be a hovering parent.

Part of this is because I don't think it serves the best interests of my children. My goal is to have them become fully independent of me. If I am over their shoulders for everything they have no incentive to learn to be fully independent.

The other reason is because why in the world would a fully grown adult want to be all in their kids' interests?  Yesterday, N asked if I would take her and two friends to Target, and I obliged. In the 10 minutes it took for me to drive the three of them to Target, I had to put in my earbuds. The earbuds were not attached to music; I just needed something to dull the noise. We stepped into the store, and I immediately said, "I"m going to get my stuff; ya'll go do what you need to do," and I made a beeline in the opposite direction of them.

I appreciate my daughter and her friends, but under no circumstances do I want to hang with them. They are 13; I'm 44. Sometimes our interests briefly intersect, but most of the time, they do not.

I texted N and told her she had until 3:30. When I didn't get a text back from her, I texted, "Where are you?" Fortunately for her, she located me. Had she not, I would have texted her one more time to say, "I'm going to check out. If you don't text me back or meet me at check-out, I am having them call your name on the loudspeaker and ask you and your friends to come to the front of the store."

N knows full well that I will do this because I did it to her when she was younger and refused to leave the toy department. I left her, walked to the front of the store, started checking out, and asked the cashier to call my daughter over the intercom.

What I find difficult to reconcile within myself is that I refuse to helicopter my kids, and yet I am seemingly unable to emotionally disengage from them. I'm not even certain that they are aware of my emotional entanglement, but I certainly am.

On Thursday night, I had my graduate class, and the teacher discussed missing her children's open houses because she was at her own school's open houses. She talked about her husband attending with them but said he didn't know what to look for. She talked about being dedicated to teaching, and she is. Decades in the profession, a ph.D., and now teaching soon-to-be teachers at the college level.

I observed a teacher on Thursday morning/afternoon who teaches, does workshops and is clearly highly dedicated.

I have never, ever been able to split my dedication, and it is why when my children are 10, 8 and almost 14, I still cannot do it. This is why I am ever-so-slowly pulling away in my chaotic juggle of part-time employment. I cannot let go just yet. I tell myself that in four years when M starts middle school that I will return to work full-time, and I may.....but I also may not because I don't know what four years from now will bring.

Will G's OCD be out of control? Will he and M adjust ok to middle school? How will N handle high school? Will my parents or my MIL need care or help that I can assist with? Will I need the flexibility that my current situation allows me?

I think about not only the teaching, but the faculty meetings and the grading and the IEP meetings during planning, and all those extras that pull one's mind away from just planning and instruction and keep one busy and distracted beyond the measure of 7 hours.

I wonder sometimes if this inability to disengage is harming my kids. I don't think so; it is probably harming me more than anybody because I keep stewing over it.

The kids are alright (or massive f**k-ups).

Whether my children are alright or massive f**k-ups really just depends on the day of the week.

There has been a slow-build to a situation involving G that came to a head yesterday morning. Technically, it came to a head on Friday afternoon when I was conveniently at the grocery store, so I wasn't aware of it until yesterday morning.

It doesn't take much for G to become confused in relationships with others. In his mind, he thinks if you like someone, you like them forever with the same amount of enthusiasm and gusto.

(This kid is not meant to have a long-term marriage, I think).

In third grade, he had a falling-out with a boy with whom he had been friends since kindergarten.  The friend stopped talking to him and didn't explain what was going on. He felt uncomfortable with G's hugging but wouldn't ever tell him, and G just didn't get it. He wrote the friend a note and said, "Why didn't you just tell me?"

Now, I know that there have been many, many times when I have told G something, and he just doesn't listen. It's not what he wants to hear so he doesn't hear it. However he thinks something should be is the way it should be, regardless of reality. So it is entirely possible that his friend DID tell him.

Whenever I worry that I am siding too much with my own child, I usually respond to myself with, "Bitch, PUHLEASE. You know your kids and every downfall they have."

A similar situation has occurred again with a different child.

Last week, he wrote a sweet note and gave the child a flower. I read that note, and it said something like, "I want to be friends. Why did you say I was rude and mean?"

(My response to his was, "Because you are rude and mean.")
Helpful, I know.

This time, G drew a picture of the child stabbing him in the heart and calling him a loser. He then  wrote something on the order of, "This is me in the future. I thought you would like it because you f**king hate me."

The person he wrote it to is a 6-year-old girl.

G has been playing with her older brother. It bothers G that she avoids him now, so he questions the brother who gives his spin on the situation.

Sigh.

My feelings are all over the map on this one.

On the one hand, I'm glad G is drawing/writing his feelings, but I feel angry at him for writing it and leaving it for the girl to read.
(And when I say leaving it, I mean taping it to her front door. Way to be a stalker, son.)

On the one hand, I feel sympathetic to G because it is maddening to have someone like you and then decide they don't like you without explanation.
(Hello, my dating life from ages 13-22.)
And he internalizes it. He is a loser rather than the other person just doesn't realize how good of a friend he can be. (It takes a whole lot of time and wisdom to get to a point where you realize that if someone doesn't like you, it is their problem. Not yours.)

On the one hand, I feel Mama Bear because my kid has been hurt and is confused, but I feel like murdering my own kid because YOU DON'T WRITE SHIT LIKE THIS AND GIVE IT TO PEOPLE, ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY ARE 6.

So, we had a talk in which I told him it is a good idea to draw and express his feelings, but when he does it he needs to share it with me or D so we can help him. Giving it to the person who upset you does not help the relationship.

And we talked about how you should be friendly to everyone, but that doesn't mean you are friends with everyone.

And we talked about how even if one person doesn't like him, think about all the people he knows who DO like him and think he is special.

And I saved the drawing/note, and we'll be discussing it with his psychiatrist and possibly increasing his medication dose if his obsessing continues.

I saw a college friend yesterday who commended me on "living out loud," which I took to mean sharing my life....good and especially bad....in this blog and on Facebook. Sharing my mental health demons, and now my son's mental health demons.

Sometimes I am really proud of this because I do think it helps people, and I know talking about it helps me.

But sometimes, especially for G, I worry that he gets labeled as "troubled" because of his medication and OCD.

All kids, in their own ways, are troubled.

I have tried to deal with G's issues head-on and proactively, just as I do my own issues because time often doesn't make them less problematic. You try to cope as best you can and sometimes develop some rather unhealthy coping mechanisms because you don't know what the f*ck you're doing.

G's issues are made public by me, but I know that the other kids whom he has had relationship problems with have their own issues. Divorced parents, living in grandparents' basements for a time due to financial issues, new siblings, deaths of grandparents.....

G is not the only kid who is struggling with growing up, and I try to remember that.

Unfortunately, as a parent, you not only get through your own childhood crap but then you have to wade through the muck and stink of your children's childhood crap.

I jinxed myself (in fetal position, overwhelmed with doubt)

Sigh.

The highs and the lows. I sometimes (thankfully) forget just how subject to them I am.

Wednesday of last week was high. I spoke to two composition classes at my college alma mater about my experience as a blogger and how it has impacted my professional life freelancing. In addition to seeing and helping out one of my friends from undergrad (who is now the professor of these classes), one student came up to me after my presentation and told me how much better my talk made her feel about her own generalized anxiety disorder and being on medication.

Yippee!
Huzzah!
Woohoo!

As the tide rolls in.....so it rolls out.

Thursday was horrible.

I should have felt high, especially since a sweet friend texted me her son's poem about my class at the cottage school, which was delightful.

But on Thursday I felt completely ill-equipped as a professional.
I felt like I don't know what I'm doing.
I felt plagued by doubt as to whether I'm an effective teacher according to the people in the "know."

Taking this graduate class, even though I was told on Wednesday that I've actually "technically" taken this class before but need to do it again since the first go-round was like 20 years ago, is bringing forth all sorts of doubt in me. Even though my directors at the cottage school are thrilled with what I bring and how I teach. Even though my students actively and vocally enjoy my class and feel they are rigorously learning.

Graduate classes set the bar super high, and I understand why. Who doesn't want only the best, most organized, most committed people in classrooms?  I'm a person who is highly susceptible to trying to meet unattainable and unsustainable goals, even if it makes me half crazy to try to do it.

Added to this was my experience subbing at a middle school on Tuesday and feeling like a failure since I called the student response team twice (which I strive to never have to do, even though this may be a completely stupid and unreasonable goal I set for myself). The kids were on like day 3 or 4 of nonconsecutive subs doing busy work, and that is a shit situation for a sub to have to attempt to mop up. Three or four days of busy work for a middle schooler might as well be a freaking lifetime.

By last night I was feeling better. It helped when I got a text from the mom of two girls I taught at the cottage school. I taught the younger daughter English all four years of high school; she is now at the local university.  The text said:

We are discussing college English class. 

Ms. V's class is more challenging!  

We love you! Thank you!

Today, I have completed my grad class homework and had a first day back at the cottage school, and I feel like I don't suck. For today, I don't suck. Tomorrow I might feel differently.....

Here's a hoop....I think I'll jump through it

A long time ago, before I had children but after I got my MAT, I thought about working towards a Ph.D. 

I am a pretty goal-oriented person, and I thought that would be something great to achieve.

At some point, I let that idea evaporate. It was probably when I was knee-deep in diapers, pacifiers, burp cloths and all-purpose nipple ointment. 

After I began working at the cottage school with high schoolers in 2013, I decided that I would like to be certified to teach high schoolers for that far off time when I might return full-time to teaching. My current certification is 5-9, and while I like this age-group a lot, I also really like choice. If I have to take classes anyway to renew my certification every five years, I might as well make them classes that count towards additional certification and the ability to move between middle and high school if I so choose. 

In 2015, I took an adolescent psychology course, and now I'm taking a course called Teaching Secondary English. 

Now, here is the blurb about this class: Application of current theories of pedagogy, instructional strategies, student assessment and evaluation tools for teaching English in the high school. Topics intentionally addressed are learning styles, special needs, diversity and technology integration. 

As a person who already has an MAT, and is the only one in the class who already has an MAT, I already know about.....90% of this stuff. 

I am jumping through the proverbial hoop, and this makes me feel a little frustrated. 

This is not to say the class has no value at all. I can always, always learn something in any new situation.

But I'm having to write the big, drawn-out "lesson plans" that no actual teacher ever does in real life. (One student asked if teachers do this for every lesson. The professor--who knows my situation--and I looked at each other, smirked a bit, and shook our heads "no.")

I'm having to prove that I know how to think about instruction in an orderly, chronological way. I'm having to teach a lesson plan to high schoolers to prove that I can write one of these big long things and then follow it. 

Sigh.

I did this 19 years ago when I got my first MAT. I do this logical, organized thinking 27 weeks a year at the cottage school for my high schoolers.

I know I should take the high road and suck it up (which I will do and AM doing).

I need to grouse a little bit, though.